


The War Outside Our Door

by DamionAerynStarr



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Episode Related, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-12
Updated: 2012-08-12
Packaged: 2017-11-12 00:41:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/484710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DamionAerynStarr/pseuds/DamionAerynStarr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Don't you dare look out your window, darling, everything's on fire.</p><p>"No one else will get hurt." Stiles repeated, his voice firm and far more mature than sixteen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The War Outside Our Door

**Author's Note:**

> My first Teen Wolf fic, so please be kind. This takes place before "Battlefield". Might become part of a series, as I have ideas for a few more. This wanted to be so much longer, but I cut the boys off, otherwise I never would've finished.
> 
> Oh, and I own nothing. I just play with them for my amusement. I'll give them back when I'm done.

Jackson didn't want to be here. This was the last place he wanted to be. But the part of him that was screaming "RUN!" was being drowned out by the voice telling him to move closer to Stiles Stilinski, to kneel beside him and touch him and calm that gasping breath and fluttering heart. (He wasn't going to acknowledge, even to himself, that faint voice in the back of his mind telling him to _kill, rip open the trembling teen's throat and bathe in his blood and hear his heart stop_.) 

He was standing beside Stiles before he even realized he'd moved, looking down at the smaller teen. Stilinski was curled into a ball against the wall of the locker room, forehead pressed to his knees and hands twisted into tight fists on his head. Jackson mentally kicked himself for his lack of self-control, shrugging his backpack off his shoulder and setting it down as he sank to his knees. "Stilinski? What's going on?" Stiles' head snapped up and Jackson swallowed the lump that lodged itself in his throat.

Stiles' large brown eyes were red rimmed and watery, tears drying on his cheeks. His face was pale, dark shadows giving away his insomnia and weight loss. His lower lip was bright red where his teeth had worried at the skin just short of drawing blood. He looked tired and so close to breaking apart Jackson was afraid to touch him. Stiles' hand fisted the front of Jackson's shirt, and the Lacrosse captain saw him struggle for breath, the smell of panic and anxiety slamming into Jackson in a wave. He moved, again without thinking, crowding into Stiles' space. One arm looped around Stilinski's shoulders, pulling him into Jackson's chest, and his other hand rested on Stiles' chest, over this thrumming heart. 

"Breathe, Stiles, just breathe," Jackson murmured soothingly, curving his body around Stiles in an unconsciously protective gesture. "C'mon, just breathe with me. Take in a breath and hold it, can you do that?" He felt Stiles nod weakly where his hot face was pressed into Jackson's shoulder. Under his hand Stiles' chest expanded as he filled his lungs with oxygen, holding it like instructed. "Good, good. Now on three let it out slow, okay? Slow. One......two........three, breathe." Stiles slowly released the air through his lips, and Jackson felt his heart slow a bit. He talked Stiles through his breathing, repeating the instructions until the teen sagged against him, heart rate calm and breathing even. Jackson shifted, prepared to draw away and give the other boy some space, Stiles' grabbed his shirt in his other hand, stilling him.

"Don't. Just...I'm sorry." Stiles' voice was weak, wrecked from hyperventilating for who knows how long before Jackson got there. "You heard me, I know you did, and I'm sorry, I didn't mean it, I swear I didn't, I was angry and-" Stiles gasped for breath and Jackson jerked away, keeping his hand over the smaller teen's heart while the other cupped the back of his neck. Stiles' skin was clammy against his palm.

"Breathe, dammit. Just breathe." Jackson snapped, a little harsher than he meant. It had hurt, hearing someone like Stiles Stilinski give up on him. Stiles cared, to a nearly annoying degree, but that was probably why he'd said it. The kanima ( _you, you, it's you_ ) was hurting people he cared about, but he couldn't fight it. He was just weak and human and vulnerable and that must hurt, knowing he couldn't protect who he loved.

"I'm sorry," Stiles whispered between breaths, swallowing a sob. "I'm so sorry, Jackson."

Jackson pulled Stiles to him again, wrapping his arms around the slim body and ignoring the tears welling in his own eyes. He lost track of how long they stayed like that, Jackson listening to Stiles breathe and his heart beat and just him live. He pressed his face into the back of Stiles' neck ( _open your mouth and bite down, hard enough to sever the spine, tear and kill, kill, killkillkill_ ) and breathed in, smelling waning anxiety and humanity and Stiles.

"We will save you, Jackson. I promise. I won't give up on you." Stiles murmured into Jackson's shoulder, hands flattening against the planes of the Lacrosse player's back, pulling him impossibly closer. "No one else will get hurt."

Something clenched in Jackson's chest, making his throat close up and his heart stutter in it's beat. "Stiles," He choked out, clearing his throat to try talking again. "Stiles, I need you to do something for me." 

Stiles shifted, hooking his chin over Jackson's shoulder. "What do you need?" And Jackson's heart clenched, because that was Stiles, always willing to give everything to someone else, even someone like him.

"At the game tomorrow night, if you see me coming toward you, I want you to run. Don't look back, don't try to talk to me. Just run." 

"Jackson-" 

"Promise me," Jackson moved back, framing Stiles' confused face with his hands. To his credit, the smaller teen said nothing, just reached up, sliding his hand over Jackson's. "Promise me that you will run." His heart was pounding in his chest as images flashed through his head of Stiles laying on the lacrosse field, brown eyes staring dully up at the sky, skin pale and bloodless around the gaping hole in his throat. Stiles' chest ripped open, heart bared to the fall air. Stiles with a broken neck, face forever frozen in mild surprise. Stiles' blood on Jackson's claws and skin and everyone looking, knowing what he is and what he's done and Stiles dead at his feet, dead, dead, _deaddeaddead_. 

Jackson closed the space between them, pressing his trembling lips to Stiles' to silence the raging fear in his own head. For a moment Stiles was still, and Jackson felt himself go cold at his own boldness. Then Stiles tilted his head, changing the angle, and his lips parted against Jackson's mouth. When his tongue pressed against the seam of Jackson's lips the larger teen moved forward, pinning Stiles against the wall and kissing him hard. 

Stiles' hands were as restless as his mouth and tongue, moving over Jackson's chest, sliding around his shoulders, up his neck, threading into his hair. Jackson could feel the hesitation in every touch, like Stiles was convinced Jackson would pull away at any moment. Part of the Lacrosse captain knew that he should be pulling away, that he shouldn't be kissing Stiles Stilinski of all people, but for once in his life he just didn't care about what anyone else would think. Something in him ( _the kanima, the monster, you're a monster_ ) was trying to make him rip apart the vulnerable human in his arms, and he needed Stiles to know that he didn't hate him, not at all. The thing that would chase Stiles down and try to tear into him and make him bleed and kill wasn't Jackson, just a demon using his skin.

Pain stabbed through his heart at the thought of Stiles limp and cold and lifeless in his arms and he pulled away to swallow the lump that surged into his throat. "Promise me. Please." His voice cracked, and he didn't have the strength to open his eyes.

Stiles' warm hands cupped his face, tilting it, and then Stiles' lips pressed softly to first one eyelid, then the other. "I promise." The words were hot against Jackson's skin, and Jackson ignored the telling double-beat over the lie, instead leaning his forehead against Stiles'. 

"I don't want to hurt you. It would kill me-" Stiles silenced him with a kiss, sliding his arms around Jackson's neck to hold him in place.

"No one else will get hurt." Stiles repeated, his voice firm and far more mature than sixteen. Jackson sighed, sagging into Stiles' embrace as he allowed himself to believe the smaller teen's words. One of his hands curled over the back of Stiles' shoulder and the other cupped the side of his neck, Jackson's thumb stroking the line of Stiles' jaw. He didn't want to move, but he didn't dare stay longer. It was after practice, everyone else was long gone, but Jackson could feel Gerard's influence humming beneath his skin ( _KILL _) and he couldn't guarantee Stiles' safety while they were this close.__

"I have to go," He whispered, voice pained with regret. Jackson finally opened his eyes in time to see Stiles wince, as if struck, and his arms retract slowly.

"Okay." 

Something in Stiles' voice made Jackson surge forward once more, grasping the back of his neck and pulling him into another heated kiss. Jackson dropped his weight from his toes to his knees, pressed on either side of Stiles' thighs, and flattened his hand against the other teen's lower back, pressing Stiles' body to his own and holding it there. Stiles' hands were warm and trembling where they rested on Jackson's biceps. Jackson inhaled the smell of Stiles and all sounds faded away but the strong beat of Stiles' heart and the sound and feel and taste of Stiles' breath and mouth. Everything for him narrowed to a fine, Stiles-shaped point, and it made his heart pound and his head spin and his body ache for more ( _blood, soak in it, drink it_ ) touch and skin and breath and **STILES**. 

His stomach lurched when he realized it had never been like this before, not even with Lydia.

"Stiles, I-" He was cut off by Stiles' shaking fingers on his lips.

"Don't," Stiles' expression was pained, his voice mournful, and it hurt Jackson. "Don't act like....like this is it. Please."

They stared into each others' eyes for a moment, then Jackson slowly nodded. Stiles smiled, but it was a shadow of it's normal brilliance. Jackson swallowed and stroked Stiles' cheek, carefully choosing his next words.

"When this is done, I think I want to take you out to dinner." Jackson smirked, and for once he didn't feel the normal cockiness behind the twist of his lips. Stiles smiled back, brown eyes too wide and shining again.

"I think I want to let you take me out to dinner." He whispered, using his fingertips to guide Jackson's mouth back to his.

The kiss lingered, full of promise and longing. It was a silent plea from each to the other that they return to a place they never even realized they belonged; each other's arms. 

Jackson broke the kiss despite the ache in his heart, standing and grabbing his backpack, walking away before he lost the strength to. He slapped at the tears he felt growing in his eyes, sniffing. He all but fled the locker room, determinedly not looking back. It wasn't until he was safely ensconced in his car that he let the tears fall, pressing his forehead against the steering wheel. He gripped the wheel so hard his knuckles turned white, arms trembling with strain. He screamed his rage at the unfairness of it all; the circumstances he'd brought upon himself, his own lack of control, and most of all, the pain he was going to inflict on Stiles Stilinski, no matter how hard he tried. Someone was going to get hurt at the game tomorrow night, and it was going to be his fault.

Jackson took a breath, unconsciously mirroring the pattern he'd talked Stiles through. He sat back in his seat, swallowed, and breathed again. When he opened his eyes he saw the door to the school opening, Stiles stepping out blindly as he dug through his backpack. He was a little less pale in the setting sun, and the tightness in Jackson's chest eased a bit. 

"Remember to run." He whispered as he started his car, putting it in reverse. "You promised." 

Jackson backed out of his parking spot and tore out of the school parking lot a little faster than necessary, keeping his eyes locked on the windshield so he wouldn't look in the rearview mirror.


End file.
